


Comfort

by monchy



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of four encounters, leading to something, or maybe not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Theogony (Begginigs)

The first time, Quinlan was sitting at a barstool. He was leaning slightly forward, staring at a blue drink in a large glass, and smiling widely. It wasn’t a very uncommon image, but Mace supposed it wasn’t unwelcome either.  
  
Mace walked towards the barstool himself, and slid on the sit next to Quinlan’s, raising his hand a little to drag the attention of the pretty barmaid. Once he had ordered, he looked at his own hands resting on the barstool, and proceeded to sulk.  
  
“Well, hello, there.” Quinlan looked at him, but Mace didn’t correspond. “Don’t we look depressed tonight.” Mace shrugged almost imperceptibly, and Quinlan’s gaze went back to his own glass.  
  
People knew knight Vos as that annoying brat who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but Mace knew Quinlan knew exactly when to close his mouth. Just like now. Mace appreciated the shared silence. Perhaps, he thought, Quinlan was the best company he could have desired for such a night.  
  
The silence stretched a little longer, and Mace decided to lift his face, with no purpose whatsoever. He found himself staring at Quinlan, slightly entranced by the color of his skin, and the contrasts it created with the yellow mark he sported on his face. It was something he usually did – stare at Quinlan’s yellow line. He liked the way it contorted with his features, and how easily it seemed to change from one tone to another. Quinlan had probably noticed; he was perceptive like that.  
  
“How do you do it?” asked Mace, after a few more seconds of scrutiny. Quinlan looked at him, a question in his features, but he waited for him to decide when to explain. “Smile. No matter what. You’re always smiling.”  
  
Quinlan smirked. “Part of my charm, I guess.” Mace nodded unconsciously, looking forward when a drink was put in front of him. He clutched it in his hand, and took a large swig. “Not pacing ourselves tonight, are we?”  
  
“No, not tonight,” answered Mace, after he was done coughing – he had never been too good at this getting drunk thing.  
  
“Let’s get a table then.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“A table, Master Windu. Wooden surface, you know? That comes in different shapes?” Mace huffed, and Quinlan just smiled at him. “Come on.”  
  
Mace shrugged one more time, standing up and following Quinlan once he had yelled at the barmaid to ‘keep them coming’. Oh, he was going to get wasted tonight.  
  
Sitting at the table across Quinlan, he went back to sulking. Or perhaps it was more like brooding this time. He just wasn’t used to this stupidly absurd kind of moods.  
  
“Care to explain good, old Quin what’s going on?”  
  
“I’m older than you, Quinlan,” pointed Mace, resting his head on his hand.  
  
“Just a manner of speaking, mate.” Mace nodded again, this time regretting it when his head started to pound. He was truly bad when it came drinking.  
  
He looked at Quinlan again, who just stared back at him, waiting. Mace considered the situation, wondering exactly if his life was something he should share with this man. Even after saving him from a sure turn to the Dark Side, Quinlan and him didn’t have what could be considered a relationship. The fact that the young man fascinated him was a complete different story.  
  
But Quinlan kept looking at him, all big brown eyes and sweet smile. Damn manipulative bastard.  
“Qui-Gon,” Mace blurted, suddenly. Quinlan simply raised both eyebrows, questioningly. “Falling in love with his padawan.”  
  
“Ah.” Quinlan leaned back, nodding. Apparently Mace had been the only one who hadn’t seen it.  
  
“Then again, who can blame him?” Mace sighed, and Quinlan kept nodding.  
  
“Now I get the circles under your eyes. Don’t look good on you, you know?” Mace huffed, wondering at which point he had though telling Quinlan about this was a good idea. “I’m far more fond of the badass look.” It was time for Mace to raise his eyebrows in an unspoken question. “You know, that way you look when someone’s been mischievous, as if saying ‘are you talking to me, motherfucker?’” Mace spit his drink, and Quinlan laughed.  
  
“I would certainly never talk like that.” Quinlan chuckled, and Mace suspected it had a lot to do with the expression on his own face.  
  
“It’s a cool image.” Mace just shook his head. “You should get yourself a tattoo that said BMF, Mace; you would scare the younglings even more than you do now.”  
  
“I do not scare the younglings, and I will not be–”  
  
“Right here.” Mace looked at his hand between Quinlan’s, and saw him lift his sleeve slightly, almost as if that arm belonged to someone else.  
  
Mace looked up and into Quinlan’s eyes, lowering his gaze quickly, suddenly scared of what was hidden behind brown orbs. He didn’t need to look at his arm to know Quinlan’s fingers were on his wrist, but he still did. Tanned fingertips caressed the underside of his wrist, teasing with their light touch.  
  
“I bet it would look great, mate.” Mace swallowed, unsure of what exactly was going on in there.  
And then, Quinlan’s lips were on skin, kissing softly the wrist his fingers had touched. As if they burned, Mace brought his hand to his chest, looking then at Quinlan. The knight just smiled at him.  
  
“Let’s get out of here.” Mace didn’t move, watching Quinlan’s lips with a strange sensation of unreality. “I better take you home now that you can still walk.”  
  
“I… I think I’m going to stay here.” Mace coughed, recovering the severe tone of his voice. He shook his head, and returned his hand to the table, where it clutched the edge unconsciously.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yes, Quinlan, I’m sure.” Quinlan smiled at him, and Mace found himself wondering why exactly.  
“Fine. I’ll be leaving, then.” Mace nodded, releasing an unconscious sigh. When he looked up, Quinlan was still there.  
  
Such a strange character, knight Vos.  
  
Mace knew there was a lingering question in the air, an invitation perhaps, but he stayed silent. So did Quinlan. But after a few seconds of heavy breathing, the younger knight leaned his forehead on his, holding his head with both hands. Mace didn’t try to move, enthralled by the feral look on those eyes he knew so little about.  
  
“’Nighty night, Macey.” And with that, Quinlan left the place.  
  
Mace went back to his sulking.


	2. The Second Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fall From Grace (Loss)

The second time, Quinlan was outside. He was leaning against a tree, looking up at the darkened sky of Coruscant, and sipping distractedly from a glass. He looked unreachable, almost mythical, too interesting for his own good.  
      
Suddenly, Quinlan looked in his direction, and Mace reprimanded himself for being caught staring.  
      
He walked all the way towards him and nodded, unsure of what to say. He found it hard to start a conversation with Quinlan; he never knew quite what to expect.  
   
“Escaped the party, didn’t you?” asked Quinlan, offering him his glass. Mace just nodded, taking the offered glass in his hand and taking a large swig of… something.  
      
 “What is that?” he asked, trying to examine the liquid in the poor light of the moon.  
      
“Rum.” Mace twisted his lips in a way Quinlan found amusing, if his smirk was any indication, and returned the glass to his owner. “Shouldn’t you be in there?”  
      
 “It got boring.”  
      
“Always does, mate, but it’s your birthday party.” Quinlan pointed at him in an accusing fashion, which Mace would have believed if his expression hadn’t betrayed him.  
      
 “I hate birthdays,” murmured Mace.  
      
 “Yeah, make us realise we’re old, don’t they?” Mace huffed, and Quinlan smirked again.  
   
They were silent then. Mace liked silences next to Quinlan, they were never uncomfortable or forced, and they always felt strangely absorbing. He looked at him, that lonely figure against a tree, with his dark skin, his unruly hair and that fascinating yellow mark crossing his face.  
      
 Mace had gone out to sulk; finding Quinlan had been a nice surprise.  
   
“Still mourning the loss, I see.” Mace turned his head towards Quinlan, arching an eyebrow. “Qui-Gon,” explained Quinlan, after a while. “Clearly screwing his padawan every chance he gets.”  
   
Mace smiled a little, nodding unconsciously. Yes, that was the reason, wasn’t it? He looked down, and he didn’t notice Quinlan stepping closer to him, or, if he did, he decided to ignore it.  
   
“The worst part,” continued Quinlan after a while, “is that you can’t hate him, right?”  
      
 “What are you talking about?”  
      
 Quinlan laughed, and leaned his hand on Mace’s shoulder. “Hating the one our loved one truly loves, is human nature. But Obi-Wan is absolutely unhateable, don’t you think?”  
      
“That word doesn’t exist.”  
      
“You get my point.”  
   
Mace did, of course, but he preferred to stay silent; nothing good ever came from telling Quinlan that he was right.

“When was the last time we spoke about this?” A rhetorical question, clearly, so Mace didn’t answer. “Ah, yes, a year ago, more or less.

“Your point being?”

“You need to get over this, mate.”

Mace chuckled, looking into Quinlan’s dark eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it is!” Quinlan smiled, widely. “You’re just not trying hard enough. Or, well, are you trying at all? Or are you treasuring the feeling?”

Mace shrugged, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you do; you’re master Windu, you know everything.”

“Do I?” Mace chuckled, a little bit amused, a little bit sad.

“I’d be disappointed otherwise, sweet cheeks.” Mace started to protest, but he was mesmerised by the fire behind Quinlan’s brown irises. It was scary, and yet infinitely attractive. “So, you need to get over it.”

Mace shook his head. “How?” The sound was low, slightly shy.

“Step by step, mate.”

“What’s the first one, then?”

“Relax, Macey.” Quinlan smiled, and put both hands on Mace’s shoulder, forcing them to face each other. “You need to relax."

That was when Quinlan kissed him. Mace couldn’t say he hadn’t been expecting it, but he was still surprised by the sudden move. Quinlan’s lips were parched, but they still felt incredibly soft above his, asking for entrance, and then meeting his tongue.

Mace’s hand got tangled between Quinlan’s uncombed hair, so he kept his hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to come closer. Closer felt nice. So did Quinlan’s arms around him, and the feeling of his chest moving against his own.  
   
“Why?” asked Mace, stealing a moment between kisses.

“Comfort.”

This time, when Quinlan leaned back to kiss him again, Mace pushed him softly. “No, wait, Quinlan, don’t.”

“What? Why?”

“This just doesn’t work like this,” murmured Mace, taking a step back.

Quinlan laughed, a little hysterically. “Yes, it does.”

“You clearly don’t know what unrequited love feels like.”  
   
Quinlan laughed, then, and it was a little scary. His features glowed in the moonlight, and, for an instant, he looked like a creature from another world, beautiful and dark.  
   
“For a smart man,” said Quinlan then, “you’re quite blind, Mace.”  
   
Mace’s eyes opened hugely, but Quinlan didn’t let him utter a word, kissing his lips again. It was soft and short, almost hurried, and then Quinlan was walking back towards the inside of the Temple.  
   
“Good night, Macey!” He exclaimed seconds later.  
   
Mace proceeded to sulk.


	3. The Third Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Descent Into the Underworld (Death)

The third time, Quinlan was in his quarters. He was sitting in that old brown, uncomfortable sofa, that had been there for longer than Mace cared to remember. He looked serious, and tired.

For the first time ever, Mace wished Quinlan wasn’t there. He had been dealing with the Council for the past five hours, trying to keep his composure, and all he wanted to do was drink, and then cry himself to sleep. The only good thing about Quinlan being the one intruding his privacy, and not someone else, was that he didn’t have to pretend.

Mace walked towards his kitchen, grabbed a bottle of the cheapest, deadliest brandy he possessed and a couple of glasses, and then dragged himself to the living room, where he sat next to Quinlan. He didn’t change his expression, simply pouring the brandy.

Putting his hands to the back of his neck, Mace bit his lip. He knew he looked pathetic, but he just didn’t have the energy to try and pull himself together.

He rubbed his teary eyes, and the looked up. “What are you doing here, Quinlan?”

“I’m here to make love to you.”

Mace laughed, low and sad. Yes, he had thought so. “So considerate of you.”

“I could very well go and visit Obi-Wan, pudding; I’m sure he needs this as much as you do.” Quinlan pointed at him with a long finger, grasping one of the glasses and downing it.

“Well, why don’t you go and do just that?” shouted Mace. He was tired; he didn’t fucking need this now.

Quinlan smiled at him. The bastard. “He’s got a little fellow to take care of now. Besides, I rather it be you.”

“Right, it’s all about comfort, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“Of course, sure. If he doesn’t love me, it works; wouldn’t have guessed it worked too if he died.”  
Quinlan shook his head slightly, staring pointedly at the lonely tear that slid down Mace’s face. “Mace, shut the fuck up.”

Mace moved back the moment he saw Quinlan move towards him, his eyes glinting like those of a fierce creature would. He didn’t expect his face to be held by gentle hands, or his eyes to be met by another pair filled with fear and pain behind their feral mask.

“Quinlan, I–” He was properly shushed by Quinlan’s finger resting gently on his lips.

“You need this,” murmured Quinlan, close to his ear. “Hell, I need this. I’ll never ask for more.”

Mace didn’t resist when Quinlan kissed him; he kissed back. Because, perhaps, this was the way things were supposed to work. Obi-Wan got the kid that had been Qui-Gon’s last wish, and he got stuck kissing Quinlan. Then again, he had probably gotten the best part of the deal, because Quinlan’s lips felt too good to be true, and all Obi-Wan was going to get this night was the long mourning over a dead lover.

Quinlan kissed him harder, and Mace clung to him, desperate and rushed, too scared to let go now. But it was fine, because Quinlan just pressed harder against him, and dragged him to his bed, and shed his clothes, and moved him around like a puppet, making him forget for a little while, just for a little while.

Mace was nicely surprised with the way Quinlan would moan if he just pressed the sole of his foot against the back of his leg, with how strangely soft the locks of his hair would feel against the skin  
of his shoulders, and with the ever-changing emotion in those dark eyes.

Quinlan wasn’t all smooth skin and soft touches. His skin was marred with scars, his voice was rough, and his hands could be gentle, demanding or simply desperate. It felt good. It felt real, and all Quinlan, and that was all Mace wanted.

Mace was too lost to point the moment in which it ended, but it did, just as everything does. He laid there next to Quinlan, pretending their shoulders weren’t touching, and yet, enjoying the feeling.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to brood. He wanted to get drunk. He was too tired to do any of those.

“You should get some sleep.” Quinlan’s voice was low, but it still felt too loud in the silence of the night.

Only the random light coming from the passing vehicles outside illuminated the room, and the dark enveloped them. Mace didn’t answer, preferring to keep things as they were a bit longer; after all, it had been Quinlan who had taught him to live one second at a time.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology surprised Mace, so he turned his head, staring at Quinlan’s face framed in the dark. He managed to arch an eyebrow, confused. He wondered if the apology was for this, for Qui-Gon’s death, or for something else altogether; he could never tell when it came down to understanding Quinlan.

“I… I…” Quinlan hummed. Mace was surprised, seeing him doubtful for the first time in his life. “Should I go?”

Mace stayed silent, just staring at Quinlan.

Sometime later, Quinlan nodded, and then sat up on the bed, starting to survey the room, looking for his clothes, ready to go. It was better like that, wasn’t it? It was the way this was supposed to work, but suddenly, it struck Mace how big his bed was, how long the night was, and he was scared, scared as he had never been before.

Mace grabbed Quinlan’s wrist. “Stay.”  
Quinlan’s eyes stared at him, surprised, but he just nodded, laying on the bed again. He didn’t hug Mace, nor did he look at him, or tried to expand the conversation. He just stayed there, close enough.

It was funny to think that, perhaps, Quinlan was what he had needed from the beginning.

“Good night, Macey.”

Mace didn’t register the sleeping impulse thrown his way, but he did remember, years later, a good night of well-deserved sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resurrection (Recovering from Injuries)

The fourth time, Quinlan was lying on a bed. His eyes were closed and he looked pale, his color accentuated by the white of the sheets. It was a little bit scary; to see the blazing creature that was Quinlan on a hospital bed.

Mace changed his weight from foot to foot, restless. Obi-Wan had just been there with his ten year old demon, watching Quinlan’s sleep. Mace had found himself stepping closer to Quinlan’s bed, touching his hand a little unconsciously; maybe his mind was reminding him that he had already lost one lover in Obi-Wan’s hands. Then again, Qui-Gon had never been his, and all he had of Quinlan was one night of shared pain.  
      
It had been one year, two months, eight days and six hours since Qui-Gon had died, but who was counting, right? It was strange, though, how the image of Qui-Gon was fading away from his heart, leaving him with the sad shadow of what had been a great love.  
      
Quinlan… Quinlan was a friend, a loyal one, someone who was always there, someone who worried and cared, someone who knew. So that was why Mace’s heart had shrunk a little when he had heard Quinlan had gotten hurt. Yes, right, that was it. He had to admit, though, that the sight of this weak, vulnerable Quinlan did strange things to him, things he really didn’t want to understand. Because the thing was, among the incredible amount things Quinlan Vos was, he wasn’t someone you fell in love with.  
   
“Hey…”  
   
Mace jumped when the hoarse voice reached him and, despite himself, he smiled nervously. He looked at Quinlan’s half opened eyes, and his smile stayed on his lips, shy but honest.  
   
“How are you feeling, Quinlan?” he asked, getting closer to the bed, but making sure he didn’t touch him.  
      
Quinlan smiled weakly. “How do I look?” His smile widened when Mace arched an eyebrow.  
      
“Awful, Quin, you look awful.”  
      
“No way! I always look fantastic.”  
   
Mace chuckled softly, while Quinlan tried to sit up properly, managing to grasp Mace’s hand in the process. Mace decided to ignore that, given that Quinlan was hurt, and that his hand felt so incredibly warm in his. He wondered briefly, exactly how Quinlan had gone from that annoying brat to… to… well, to whatever it was Quinlan was for him.  
   
“Why do you always do this kind of things? I find it rather annoying,” murmured Mace, lowering his eyes to the white linen of the bed.  
      
Quinlan did his best to arch an eyebrow, but his muscles weren’t responding all that well to his commands. “What kind of things?”  
      
“The ones that get you into the hospital.”  
      
“Is that your subtle way of saying that you worry about me? ‘Cause you manage to make it sound insulting.”  
   
Mace chose not to answer, and that brought a soft smile to Quinlan’s features. Quinlan moved a little to the side, patting the space he had left free. Mace looked up, and simply stared. Quinlan always offered, but Mace never answered, preferring to let what they had shared, or what they could share, lingering between them. This time, though, Mace hopped up on the bed, sitting next to Quinlan. Quinlan looked surprised, and Mace decided to smile about that, instead of wondering what had changed, when or why.  
      
Quinlan’s eyes were vulnerable, bare, and Mace searched for them with his eyes. There was something about Quinlan’s eyes, something that had always been there and that Mace hadn’t even tried to understand. It dawned on him how very stupid an obsessed man could be.  
      
Quinlan didn’t question him – Mace knew he wasn’t going to – simply accepted the change. Because that just was what Quinlan was, such a simple man wrapped up in such a complicated, hard life. It amazed Mace how a man that had been so scarred could have so many grins hidden under his lips.  
   
“You’re awfully warm, you know?” Quinlan whispered, leaning his weight on Mace, as if he was a piece of furniture.  
      
“What are you doing?”  
      
“I’m cuddling.”  
      
“Cuddling?”  
      
Quinlan smiled, moving Mace’s arm so it surrounded him. “Yes, cuddling.” He nodded slightly, leaning then his head on Mace’s chest. “I like cuddling, so you better get used to it.”  
      
“Right.” Mace pressed his chin to Quinlan’s head, allowing him to entwine their fingers. “I guess I can handle that, but we’re going to have to make some rules.”  
      
“Alright, Macey, we can do that tomorrow.”  
   
Right, tomorrow; and what a scarily new territory he was entering willingly. Mace smiled, weirdly pleased with the idea.


End file.
